“Sleeping Woman and Child,” oil on canvas, by Alphonse Lecadre, 1872.
Once I chased tornados and climbed rock falls,
shot the rapids in an inner tube,
piled into cars with bad boys,
and danced bare foot and fearless
in the local tavern’s parking lot.
Later I chased toddlers and climbed the walls,
shrieked and was shrieked at by teenagers,
chased ambulances to the hospital
because my children too, were fearless.
Now I keep a garden and plead ignorance
while my grandchild installs mysteries
on my cell phone, saying “don’t worry,
this will make your life easier.”
Not so long ago we took road trips,
hiked the woods and caught hellbenders
in mountain streams. I dried their tears,
chased off closet monsters, dressed them
for proms, taught them to cook
and do their own damn laundry.
These young ones learned to plant
and sow, to reap and wield their own
particular magics. What in our long sharing
gives them the idea
that now I’m chasing easy?
K.L. Johnston is the author of two books of poetry, Grace Period, which debuted in early 2024, and The Nature of These Gifts, which will be available by December 2024. Her individual works have most recently appeared in the anthologies In Our Own Words, Grief, Thriving, and Petals of Haiku. She holds a degree in English and Communications from the University of South Carolina.
